NationStates Jolt Archive

"Tax ID number," the man behind the computer asked.

"75-270881," the young woman replied, adjusting her sunglasses.

The man continnued typing in numbers as she gave them to him. Date of birth, ID number, INAF number, and the like. He looked up again, and asked another question. "Highest rank achieved?"

She stopped to think for a moment. "Listed or granted?" she asked, removing the Oaklys, and sliding one of the ear pieces behind the front of her shirt.

"Both, if you can," he replied, still typing.

"Well, I'm listed as a lieutenant, but I was diplomaticaly granted full flight admiral status," she said, brushing some air out of her face. The man's jaw dropped. If he were in the military, he would be in front of her, kissing her shoes. A Flight Admiral was the highest achiavable rank in the entirity of the Imitora Naval Force, not just the INAF.

"I'm not in anymore, so dont worry," she said, winking.

"Well then miss," he looked at the screen, "Chaffin, let me see what we have for you." He clicked through several screens, and entered as much info as he could. "Well, I got good news and bad news."

"Give it to me," she said.

I'd like too, he thought to himself. "Well, your exempt from taxes this year, but your brother is gonna get killed on his car tax." She chuckled.

"I'm not suprised." He handed her the tax sheet, with the exemption notice printed along the top, and she turned it in to the office down the hall, and walked towards the elevator. Soon to be roalty, and I still gotta get checked out for taxes, Christin thought as she walked down a hall way towards the door. She stepped outside, and put her sunglasses on. The sun was bright today.

This was one thing she didn't miss from Iansisle. Yesterday, it was rainy, 55degrees, and cloudy. It was also the last day of the rainy season, and literaly over night, the temperature had hiked up to 97, and it was humid. However, she was dressed for it, wearing what, in her opinion, would get her arrested for indecent exposure in Iansisle. Black with a flame patern board shorts that went slightly past her knees and a slightly fitted white sleavles shirt kept her cool in the summer heat. So did the AC in her British Racing Green BMW Z4 3.0. As she strolled out to her car, two men caught her eye.

"Lt. Chaffin," the one on the right said. Three things caught her eye on the approach. The first was the uniform, INAF Casual Blues. So he was an officer. Next was the patch on his right arm. A black knight helmet, with a crimson red lance horizontal behind it, and a long sword vertically. The gold trim signified him as a squadron leader, and the patch was VFA-119, the Black Knights. Her old squadron. The third was the fact that he adressed her as 'Lt. Chaffin', and saluted. Those of equal rank were required to salute each other, and the lieutenant leaf on his collar signified him as a lieutenant. She had neither been adressed as a lieutenant nor saluted in over a year.

"Yes," she replied, looking over the two men. The other wore a simple suit that, despite being simple, looked expensive. She then, absentmindedly, returned the salute.

"I'm Lt. Craig Versal, and this is Mr. Janson, INSA. We have a situation that we would like your help on."

"Am I being reinstated?" she asked, concerned.

"No ma'am, this is just a request. You may want to come with us though, so we can speak about it in a more private place."

She forgot about going to the bank, and then catching some surfing before dinner with her family. For some reason, she felt more or less compelled to go with them. Of course, INSA agents had that ability to convince people to do things without even looking at them. They walked to a black X5.
____________

48 Hours Earlier

There was no struggle for the M-01 Base. No shoot outs, no fights, no explosions. Non. Just the simple fact that sleep overcame the workers, and the all passed out. All 1,980 of them. The over taking terrorist group was smart. The knew that there was no way in hell, no matter how much of a suprise, were they going to take over a Megolith system base with over a thousand heavily armed and well trained Colonial Marines holding down the fort.

So, they simply found the outside air ducts, patched them over, and flodded the base with a knockout gas. When positive everyone was out, they moved in, and shot all the sleeping bodies. Not the nicest thing to do, but it got the job done.

THe Megolith system consisted of five basses on islands around Imitora, and one base on the main land itself. Each base was, in itself, capable of fighting a large scale war. Over 1,000 VLS tubes for all levels of cruise missles, 500 recesed ICBM launch systems, four MAADs, seven runways, 2 full wings of fighters, and enough SAMs and AA guns to hold back an entire airforce. Further, each base in the megolith system had full satillite uplink capabilities, and could control all of the automated space based weaponry systems. They were always good to have around.

And M-01 was now no longer under control of one of the umpteen million terrorist groups across the world, who had some crazy half assed demand that they knew damn well it wasn't going to be met. However, they had made one vital mistake. They had taken an Imitoran base. Suicide would have been quicker and less painfull.

However, with the amount of control they held over the air and groun, with the base's full compliment of F/A-78 Crows, it was going to be fun to try and get it back. The government had gotten the demannds, some randomly large sum of money that had no significance what so ever, a demand that everyone in Imitora convert to the religion of some third world asshole of the planet nation, and the like.

It wasn't going to happen. However, with the ability to hit any target in the world, and make it look like Imitora did it, wasn't all that good. Of course, higher ups thought it wasn't a bad idea to let the terrorists keep it, and take out some of the preprogrammed nations on the so called "shit and hit" list. But it was comming close to election time, and they didn't want to say that. Out loud at least.

So, while the nation slept, a plan was formulated to take out M-01, and save the world. Again.
___________________

Christin looked over the files as the black BMW SAV cruised around Downtown Northampton. She read over the history of the Megolith system, and what exactly was being asked. She flipped through the pages of the file, and as the BMW pulled back into the parking lot, she exited the vehicle. "I'll do it," she said, almost reluctantly.

"Good. You have 24 hours to report to Seaville INAFB. We'll get you all cought up there. Remeber, no one knows anythign about this, ok?"

Christin nodded. She had flown top cover for God only knew how many black missions, and knew all about confidentiality. And with her Flight Admiral Diplomatic status, was privy to more covert operation information that she knew what to do with. She walked towards her car, she needed to pack fast, and call James.

((Nice. Taggishness.))

OOC: There are two main points for this. The first is to have a story using a character who doesn't get mych use, and hte other is to show off alot of my technology. Remeber folks, call now to order your megolith system, with a set of failsafes that will keep an F-22 from flying through your heating ducts! Next IC post in an hour or so.

Baron von Taggingmeister visits the thread.

Hmm, not your tech level so I may have to ignore this...ya right.

((This look rather like something I ought to tag ;)))

ta-tag.

OOC: Hell, why not... TAG

Christin walked across the hot tarmac at Seaville. She was out of the casual clothes that she had become used to wearing, and was now in the INAF OD Flight suit. Standing next to her was her old wingman, Ryan 'Mongoose' Franko. "So wathca think Fireball? Easy kill?"

She looked out at Runway 17L, where two black painted F/A-78 Crows prepared for take off. She remaind silent as the sounds of their heavy plasma powered turbofans kicked up, and began spining. Orange and blue flame lept from the back of the heavily modified Su-37s, and they began their take off role. Moments later, they were airborne, the thrust vectoing nozzles and canards assisting the fighter into the air after a mere 200 feet.

"Out numbered fifteen to one, going up against the most advanced piece of military hardware produced, pilots who know their shit, and no chance of being rescued if shot down? I've been in worse spots." She laughed, as did Mongoose.

The briefing they had just came from wasn't full of good news. The enemy pilots knew exactly what they were doing up there, and they were in Crows. There was little chance of this being anywhere near easy. Upon enteerin the briefing room, one pilot looked at a diagnostics sheet of the M-01, and cracked a joke about flying through missle ports to destroy generators. The squadron of assembeld pilots, all at one point or another INAF pilots, laughed.

The actual mission would be a little less video game, but no less dangerous. A full wing, or 38, of the F/A-78s stationed at Seaville, would fly decoy. They would have the Athena Mod 4 set to partial, and the GhostSkin off. The terrorists had threatend the launch of the KVA-9982 'Destroyer' missle should there be any attempts to secure the base. These fighters would send off signals making the terrorists think that the attack was comming , and prepare for launch of the missle. At the great risk of their lives, the pilots in the F/A-78s would then attempt to engage the other Ravens comming in at them, and create enough of a distraction to let the 12 fighters, lead by Chaffin, into the M-01's range. They would then, while engaging enemy aircraft, wait for the launch doors to open, and hopefully, somone would be able to put a bomb right into them, onto the KVA-9982, and take out the missle.

This would cause a chain reaction, which would result in the melt down and detonating of the M-01's plasma reactor, taking out the base. When hearing that the launch opening was a mere five metters across, one of the pilots, call sign Bandicoot, joked again. "I've bullseyed womp rats in my T-38 at those speeds. They cant be much bigger than that." More laughs.

And, after the light hearted, yet not really uplifting breifing, the pilots were off to get stick time in the fighters. Christin, at 25, was the youngest among them, and had some hours in a Raven. However, most hadn't been up since the Yellow Jackets.

As they entered the secure hanger, a man stood infront of a large sheet. He wore a grey suit with a black shirt, and let his eyes walk over the pilots. He noticed Chaffin, winked without smiling, and then went back to watching the pilots enter the open area. When they had all taken a seat, he nodded over to a technician, and all non essential lights were turned off.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Robert Fortier, and I'm with the INSA. What you are all about to see is top secret, and has yet to be seen by anyone not working in, on, or around Seaville." He nodded again, and the white curtain fell.

The fighter they were looking at was, in all respects, an F-22. Same body, wings, cockpit, everything. But there was one noticable difference at first. A set of canards were mounted right below the cockpit, set back so that the center was online with the point where the cockpit wind screen joined with the fuselage. The second difference, soon seen by Christin then the others, was the presence of a third tail plane. It was vertical, and looked like it had come from an F-16. The aircraft, other wise, was no different looking, save for a slight droop in the wings (as opposed to the regular stiff wings), and the intakes were slightly bulged.

"This is your fighter. The F-82C Angel. It'll be unvield to the public soon enough. Learn it. Love it. You are the test pilots. I'll let the techies fill you in on it soon enough. Your stick time starts now." With that, he walked out of the hanger. The pilots rose, and walked towards the fighters.

The F/A-78 held steady on its course, heading south over the northern Imitoran desert, looking for its target. The lead fighter of the losse squadron was ahead of the group by about five miles, his eyes glued to the radar read out on one of the MFDs in his cockpit. He had yet to be fully briefed on the new Athena Mod 5. All he knew was that it was supposed to be able to defeat other active stealth systems.

However, he didn't remeber how. It was a wonder to the other pilots how he became the squadron leader for the Black Knights, and most of his pilots only followed his orders out of precedent. He looked out into the blue sky, there was alot of it at 19,000 feet, and still couldn't find the flight of F-82As out for them. And his squadron, who did pay attention to the briefing on Athena Mod 5, couldn't either.

A set of blips appeared on the scope of one of the fighters, and he chimed in over the mic. "Knight Six, Knight Three, bingos on scope at Angels One Six, four miles and closing." The transmission was sent over a tight beam laser, therefore not breaking radio silence.

"Knight Six to unidentified, whats your purpose?"

A femine voice responded. "Knight Six, Valkrey Five, were joining up. Haven't been in contact or engaged any Angels. Need some extra power?" The radar in the Crows reported the incomming fighters as Crows.

"Rodger that Valkrey Five, slide in to loose echlon two miles and keep search."

"Copy Knight Six, on our way." There was no noise, no sight of fighters flying in past the Knights, only the feeling of fighters passin each other closely in the sky. The GhostSkin kept both sets of fighters invisable to the naked eye.

Suddenly, in the Knights' cockpits, buzzers went off. Missle lock buzzers. They had all been killed. "Nice try Knight Six, but you gotta learn not to trust anyone, look behind you."

As he turned, Knight Six saw four fighters materialise in air, deactiviating the GhostSkin. All four were Angels. Two more fighters were in front, F-82As as well. Knight six flipped up his visor, and wipped off his eyes. Shit, I shoulda known. "Ok Knights, follow our angels home. Lets find out what we did wrong."

In the Knight Nine, Mongoose pulled off his oxygen mask, and slid the hemelt visor up. He toyed with the mic control next to his seat, and set it to talk to everyone except Knight Six. "Man, this is Mongoose. I'll tell ya what we did wrong, we let this D-B take command of our unit." The Knights laughed.

Christin leaned back in her chair, and looked up at the ceiling of her small office. She had been watching, for the past three hours, a ten minute long dogfight tape of her F-82A squadron and the F/A-78 squadron. She watched time and time again, looking for inconsitincies in her pilots' performance, looking for holes that they need to fix.

She found none. Perfect skills, all of them. The -82A was a trainer version of the -82C, and was basically the same aircraft, except armed with IR weapons. And early tody, 12 F/A-78s fell prey to the IR bullets from 6 F-82As. She was proud of her pilots, and of their skills. And today, they were getting stick time on the fighters they were actually going to take up. She walked out of the room, smiling, and towards the hanger.

OOC: Short, yes I know, but I needed to post somethign today, leading up to the big post that Iansisle really might wanna see...

((*sits on edge of seat*))

Christin grunted as the Angel came around hard. Nose up, and pulling backwards towards the ground, she breathed hard into her oxygen mask as the fighter pushed past 6 G's. She continued to pull the fighter around, till it was vertical, nose down, and speeding towards the earth. She gunned the throttles, and the morphing wings folded against the body of the fighter, reducing air presnensce. She pushed the the throttles to the stops, and the fighter screamed towards the earth. At 3,000feet, she pulled hard back, popped the airbrake, and pulled the stick back towards her, bring the nose of the fighter up, but still moving down and forward. She gunned the throttles again, and shot away from teh ground.

She banked hard, allowing the supermanuverable Angel to rip the sky apart. As she brought the fighter around, the Athena Mod 5 computer processed the data, and manuvered the canards and thrust vectoring system so that, in a move very much like street drifting, the tail swung around, the nose hardly leaving the axis point of the turn. She banked hard, gruntign through the entire turn as the G's piled on, and then let off, pulling back on the stick, bring the fighter in a shallow climb airborne. "I like it, I want one in British Racing Green," she joked over the mic.

"Funny stuff Angel, bring it in," the ATC replied. He watched as the F-82C returned, landing gently on the run way, then slowing. The morphing wings drooped lightly, the pressure now off them. She drove teh fighter to the hanger, and shut down the engines. She climbed out, and saluted her ground crew.

The crew chief approached her, with a frown on his face. "Your a damn good pilot Angel, but I saw that pop up shot. Your engine nozzles were fifteen feet from the ground. I dont want you scewing up my fighter," he said, saluting the entire time.

Christin saluted back, and smiled. "You know, that plane is just as much my baby as it is yours. I wont let anythgin happen to it."

She left the hanger, and went back to the briefing room where the rest of the pilots were waiting. Three days had gone by, and the attack would take place tommorow. They had one breifing left about the Angels before taking a night out. They needed to relax before going to get blown to all hell.

The brieifng was quick, telling the pilots to remeber to use the technology available to them in the Angel. That would be the deciding factor. Then they were dismissed.

Some hit bars, others grabbed transports to go home to see family, and some just slept. Christin was lying on her back, looking up at the sky from the tarmac, when a familar figure approached. "So, when did the Fireball become the Angel?" She looked up after sitting to see Robert approaching.

"I dunno, maybe the Fireball has always been an Angel trying to get out," she replied, standing up, and brushing herself off. He laughed.

"If I had my way, your call sign would be Kitten Nose."

Christin giggled. "And let me guess; if you were flying, you'd be Demon Eyes?"

Robert smiled and nodded. He looked at the F-82C in the hanger next to them, with 'Lt. Christin 'Angel' Chaffin' stencilled under the cockpit, and the standard Imitoran nose art painted in front of the Cockpit. "Angel's Angel," he said, reading it.

"Yup. I thoguht it was nice," she said, walking up next to him. She was still in her flight suit. "So you just staying her for the night?" she asked.

"Naw, might go to a nice little resteraunt and dance place on the beach about thirty minutes from here. Relax before bitting my nails watching your guys fly around and get shot at by the M-01. Wanna join me?" he asked.

She thought for a minute. She knew, above all else, this was trouble. She had told James most of her history, but had left one piece out. "Sure," she replied. "Let me get changed."

"Right then. I'll meet ya here in 15," he said, walking off.

Fifteen minutes later, Christing had managed to change totally. She was a master of the speed change. In 15 minutes, she showered, did her hair up, put on some make up, and slid into a tastefull cocktail dress, crimson red with a good sized, but not to revealing slit, and a pair of not quite so high heels. Robert was waiting there, standard black colorless shirt with dark grey suit jacket and slacks. He was leaning up against a not quite navy but still dark blue BMW M5.

"Your carriage, madame," he said, opening the passenger side door for her. She slid in gracefully, and he shut the door. Then, she reached over, and in a move straight out of a movie, unlocked his door for him. He grinned as he put on a pair o dark aviators, and slid into the car next to her.

"Thats love," he replied, joking. He started the car up, the sound of the aftermarket Remus exhaust grumbling. He shifted, and took off down the tarmac, and followed the side ways out to the main road.

OOC: Next post is the post Iansisle needs to watch.

"So," Robert started over a glass of a dark red wine, "hows James?"

Christin, drinking the same, looked off for a second. She sipped the wine, and thought briefly. "He's good," she replied, hoping to dodge the bullet. She did.

"Thats always good," Robert said over the softly playing psy trance in the backgoround. They made more idle chatter as they waited for their dinner. They talked about the Angel, about the mission, and life in general. Christin talked about life on the Shield, while Robert talked about life after his position as INSA. Standard catching up, untill the food came. Christin felt the tennsion, felt that Robert had something to say, and so popped the question first.

"What happend?" she asked, putting the knife down, and looking up at him. The music had changed to light, almost poppy, alternative rock.

Robert looked back, and sighed. "You really wanna talk about this?"

"We were THE couple in High School. Everyone wanted to be like us. Popular, freindly, fun loving. Everyone thought we were gonna be the one couple to make it out alive. What happned?"

Robert shrugged. "Life happened. You did good on your final tests, and got accepted into the Academy. I screwed around, f*cked up, and ended up at Tech. You went on to Navy life, and I joined the ICMC to pay for school. I ended up going black ops, and lost contact with everyone. By the time you and I finally cought back up, I was with Mandi, and you were going to diplomat school so we could use you as a diplomat. Mandi died, but by then you were already with James. Maybe we just weren't meant to be together," he said, shrugging.

She sighed, and looked up. He Shrimp Ceaser was almost gone, and his steak was only a few bites left. She put her fork down, took a sip of water, then spoke again. "Are you sure? I mean, every assignment I was on, you were there. I flew top cover for almost all your missions. And," she stopped. She didnt want to keep going.

"And what?" he asked, before taking a sip of the wine. She could tell she was thinking something that she wasn't supposed to think. Not that he never did.

"And..." she paused. She wanted to say it, but couldn't get the words out. "And sometimes...I think the only reason I'm with James is because I couldn't be with you. If you can't have the one you love, love the one your with. You looked so happy with Ormsby, that I didn't want to tell you how I felt, I didn't want to mess anything up." (OOC: The above, save for the use of the name James, is exactly word for word of what was told to me today....)

Robert lookeddown at his plate, then back at her. The song 'Broken' by Seether, began to play in teh background. The dance floor started to fill. Fortier looked back at the floor, then at Christin. "Wanna dance?"

Her head was still down after having told Robert about how she felt, and she nodded slowly, looking up smiling as he stood and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. She followed him to teh near center of the floor, and he pulled her close, placing one hand at the small of her back, taking her left hand in his right. She placed her right arm over hsi shoulder, then pulled herself in close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

They swayed slowly to the music, the almost haunting tune filling the resteraunt/club. Christin pulled her head back, and looked into Robert's eyes. She leaned forward, and placed her mouth gently on his, kissing him softly. He kissed back, gently, letting his hand slide up and down her back. She broke teh kiss. "I love you," she whispered quietly. He squeezed her hand.

She kissed him again, then pulled back and looked at him. "Ya wanna go back to my place?" she asked, smiling, but not in a mischevious way. He leaned forward, kissed her again, then nodded.

"Were gonna get in trouble?" he said, smiling.

"I know."

They walked back to the table, and Christin grabbed her light jacket. Robert paid in cash, left a good tip, and walked outside, where a vallet brought the car around. He drove quickly back to her small Officer Housing Unit on Seaville, and moved quickly without pause to the bedroom.

*tag, uh-oh! ;) *